


Expecting

by bixgirl1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (maybe a little plot), Anal Sex, Confused dating, Disappointing sex, Hot and dirty sex, Humor, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10229288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: Running into Malfoy wasn't a rare thing.  But running into him coming out of the male pregnancy offices at St. Mungo's was downright shocking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to JK Rowling and associated publishers.
> 
> All my thanks to carpemermaid and snowgall for the beta. You guys are amazing. :)

Running into Malfoy wasn’t such a rare thing anymore.

Since he’d been released from house arrest, he’d been assigned to carry out his community service on various different levels of the Ministry. Once, he’d Vanished the contents of the bin in Harry’s cubicle. Another time, he’d delivered to Harry some documents wrapped in magic too delicate for an owl’s talons. So Harry often passed him in the halls, or rode with him in the lift, and they’d even gotten to the point where strained nods of acknowledgement had become strained small talk about the weather.

It had been a little weird, at first, walking in-step with Malfoy and not hearing insults slung at him like mud, but it was a nice change from before. Everything changed; Harry could attest to that. Besides which, they were adults now, no longer schoolboys and no longer even rivals, so after the first few months of seeing each other in random places, they’d both unbent enough to exchange small smiles.

So, no. Running into Malfoy wasn’t an infrequent thing.

But running into him coming out of the male pregnancy offices in the Obstetrics wing of St. Mungo’s was downright shocking.

For one thing, Harry thought, gaping at him, they were only twenty-one. For another, _Malfoy was gay?_ And yet another: if Harry’d expected Malfoy to get pregnant with another wizard, which he never would have, not in a million years, he would have bet his entire vault that it’d be Malfoy’s partner who’d got up the duff.

Malfoy looked far more relaxed than he did at the Ministry; rather than the waistcoat and tie and pressed trousers he often wore for even the most menial chores, he was now wearing a soft-looking pale blue jumper made of one of those fancy materials Harry knew nothing about. Cashmere, maybe. His grey trousers were still pressed, but they looked a more casual pair than what Harry generally saw him in, and the combination of the grey and blue together set off Malfoy’s creamy skin tone; his smoky eyes looked like river stones under rushing water. He was… Well, he was glowing.

“Potter!” he said in surprise as he almost bumped into Harry, who was standing in his way like a lunatic.

“Oh, um, yeah. Hi, Malfoy.” “Hello.” The blond man nodded to the sheaf of papers Harry was holding.

“You’re here on business?”

“Witness statement,” Harry explained, but didn’t elaborate. He glanced at the writing on the door behind Malfoy. **_Wizard Obstetrics._** “So, er, this is a surprise.”

Malfoy turned around and followed his gaze, then gave a surprising little chuckle. “I suppose it is. But I’m not completely unhappy about it.”

“Oh, well, uh, good. That’s good.” Harry wasn’t sure why he sounded so wheezy, but for some reason he felt like hugging the other man—hugging _Malfoy_ —and the weirdness of the urge made his heart thump too quickly.

Malfoy tilted his head; a lock of platinum hair fell over his eye, and he looked at Harry oddly. “Yes, it’s… good. It’s fine.” When Harry couldn’t reply because his mouth was hanging open in a fishlike way, Malfoy’s expression hardened. “I’m allowed to take pleasure from things, Potter.”

“No, of course!” Harry shook his head, abashed. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m just surprised.”

“I gathered,” Malfoy murmured dryly, but the tension on his face eased. He stepped off to the side. “You’d better go on with your… statements. I need to get something to eat.”

“Right, you should,” Harry mumbled, looking at him in fascination. It was funny, Harry had met with several pregnant people during the course of his job; he’d never seen one whose pregnancy made them so much more attractive. It was amazing. It must be different with wizards. “Stay healthy, and all that.”

Malfoy blinked at his scrutiny and gave another tentative step away. “Goodbye, Potter.”

“Right,” Harry responded, drawing back to himself. He cleared his throat. “See you around, Malfoy.”

He watched Malfoy walk away, eyes lingering on the slender line of his back and the round swell of his arse beneath his trousers. Amazing.

***

“How rare is it for a wizard to get pregnant?” Harry asked idly as Ron took a sip of his beer. He dodged immediately out of the way as said beer came spraying like a geyser back out of Ron’s mouth.

“Blimey, Mate,” Ron coughed, fumbling for a napkin.  Harry spelled away the beer dripping from the back of his side of the booth as Hermione carefully put down her fork and looked at him.

“Harry. Are you…considering something you’d like to talk to us about?” she asked with a determinedly calm tone.

Blankly, he ran her words over in his mind, then started laughing. “No! No. I’m not. I was at St. Mungo’s today, and I saw…” He hesitated, feeling strangely reticent about the idea of revealing Malfoy’s news. “I saw a wizard step out of the male obstetrics offices. It just got me curious.”

Ron heaved a giant sigh. “Don’t scare us like that.” Hermione slapped his arm, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t scare _me_ like that. We’ve barely been full Aurors for six months; I don’t think now’s the time for us to start having kids. …Right, ‘Mione?” he added, a little uncertainly.

She grinned, shark-like and threatening, at the look on his face, and Harry hid a snicker.

“Anyway,” he said, bringing it back, “It can’t be all that rare, if they have offices at Mungo’s, right?”

“Not rare, exactly,” Hermione explained, falling into her instructor-mode. “But as far as I’m aware, it takes an awful lot of work. Potions taken at regular intervals to increase fertility, certain… positions. I think it only happens by accident for the most pure-blooded wizards. And then, after, they have to visit the obstetrician something like four times as often as a witch to make sure the baby is growing correctly and not interfering with their organs. Their blood pressure tends to go higher, faster, so they’re usually limited to non-strenuous activities. Like that.”

Harry processed this silently. So, it was possible that Malfoy had been trying for a baby, but equally possible it had been an accident; he was about as pure-blooded as you could get. And yet, he’d seemed so calm about the whole situation.

“Was it someone we know?” Ron asked, startling him out of his reverie.

Harry jumped a little, guiltily. “Um, sort of? But I don’t think I should say.”

Ron looked like he was about to object, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm. “You’re absolutely right, Harry. A lot of pregnancies aren’t announced or even spoken of for the first few months in case something happens. It’s rubbish, but it’s supposed to be bad luck. And it’s not your news to tell. Besides which, it’s not like we won’t all know who it is within a year, right”

“Right,” he agreed, relieved.

Hermione gave a little smile. “Did you offer your congratulations?”

Harry thought about it, appalled to realize he hadn’t. “No. I was… too surprised, I guess. He seemed happy, though.”

“Flowers are considered traditional,” she advised him lightly.

“He’s a bloke!” Harry objected, although his mind wandered to the boisterously bright display of flowers he’d seen in a stall in Diagon Alley that morning.

She smirked. “Still.”

***

_Draco,_

_Congratulations._

_Harry Potter_

_*_

_Potter,_

_Carnations? Really? Why on earth. Please desist in sending me flowers at once. Or picking them out for anyone, ever. _

_And who gave you permission to use my given name? I must insist you don’t do that again, either._

_For the record, I said I wasn’t completely unhappy about it. Are congratulations really in order?_

_D.M._

_*_

_Malfoy,_

_Don’t be a git. I was being nice. And you said you were pleased._

_Harry Potter_

_*_

_Potter,_

_I said I was allowed to be pleased. _

_Why are you still Owling me? Don’t you have work to do?_

_D.M._

Ruefully, Harry looked down at the parchment in his hands. It sort of sounded like an invitation to respond—Malfoy had asked him two direct questions, after all—but he didn’t want to make the mistake of sending another letter and receiving an owl back that thirsted for his blood or something.  Biting his lip, he took a quill in hand and scratched out, _When are you at St. Mungo’s next_?

He sent off the owl and set to work on an absurd case that involved the theft of toy dogs, collected by someone with an interest in all things Muggle like Arthur had. It was obviously a personal case of theft; the toys were practically worthless, after all, and were explained to have garnered several neighbor complaints because they yipped all of the time and their owner had charmed the batteries to never run out.

He’d just started to narrow down the neighbors who had called in the most complaints—there were a lot of them—when the owl flew back into his window and landed on his desk, ruffling her wings gently at him. Harry hunted through the jar of treats at his desk and held them out to her with a tentative hand, in case he’d been right and the animal had been instructed to bite him. She watched him with wide amber eyes as she leaned forward and carefully took them from his palm, crunching on them as she released the parchment.

He unrolled it. _Today, tomorrow. I practically live there now. Why? D.M._

Harry smiled. _I have business there at noon. Fancy a lunch? My treat_. He thought a moment. _As congratulations, since the flowers were no good._

***

Malfoy looked at him dubiously, waiting on a bench outside of the Wizard Obstetrics office. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Harry stood, smoothing his robes into place. “Why else would I have asked?”

Malfoy didn’t answer, but that weird little glow pinked up his complexion again. Harry admired it for a moment, then waved his hand, and they began walking down the hall together.

“Where are we going?” Malfoy asked after a minute.

“The cafeteria is pretty good.”

Malfoy stopped walking. “The cafeteria, Potter? I know you’ve a lowly upbringing, but I didn’t realise someone as rich as you would be so cheap.”

Harry blushed. “I’m not cheap. I’m just…” He sighed. “I’m just pants at finding places. Where do you want to go? Somewhere fancy and French? Pick a spot. I only get an hour for lunch, though.”

Malfoy huffed a soft laugh and, much to Harry’s surprise, named an Indian restaurant nearby. Without warning beyond, “Hold on,” he took Harry’s arm and Apparated them to the front of it. Harry shook a little as he tried to adjust to the unexpected travel, and then glared at Malfoy, who raised a single amused eyebrow.

“A little more warning next time? And are you even allowed to do that?”

Malfoy’s lip curled in an expression that edged on a sneer. “I’m on probation, not in Azkaban. My wand isn’t even restricted anymore.”

“No, I mean—” Harry waved a hand at his midsection. “Could you get hurt?”

Malfoy’s eyebrows drew down. “It’s fine, Potter.”

He walked into the restaurant, leaving Harry to follow him.

Once they had ordered—chicken tikka masala for both of them, with naan to mop up the sauce—they sat in awkward silence for a moment. Harry scrambled for something to say; he’d honestly not thought they would get this far.

“So, um… How many months do you have left?”

Malfoy took a sip of water, glancing around suspiciously. “About seven. Why? You’re the one who asked me to lunch,” he reminded Harry in a haughty voice. “If you’re embarrassed to be seen in public with me because I’m—”

“No!” Harry half shouted, colouring. Merlin, a lot of people might be, he guessed. As normal as Hermione and Ron had made it sound, there still had to be a bit of a stigma about male pregnancy, based on their reactions to his curiosity about it. He felt bad. “No, really, I’m not. I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s lips quirked to the side, but he didn’t look angry. “Try better. Not your strong suit, I know.”

Harry chuckled nervously. What was he allowed to ask? “So, you have a boyfriend, then?”

“ _What_?” Malfoy’s eyes widened comically.

“Sorry,” Harry rushed to say. “Not my business.”

Malfoy took another, longer sip of water as Harry watched. A gulp, actually. Several gulps. Christ, no, he was nearly emptying the glass. His eyes began to water and he pulled the glass away, gasping a little, then dried his mouth. His voice was a little strained. “Are you asking me if I’m single, Potter?”

“Uh, I guess?” Harry knew he’d put his foot in it, but wasn’t exactly sure how to delicately phrase the question _Is the other father in your life and, if not, do you need help with anything_?

Malfoy coughed a little. “As it happens, I am.”

“Oh.” Harry bit his lip. “So you’re… doing it alone?”

For someone so pale, Malfoy could go awfully red in the face. He leaned forward, looking around again. “Potter, what is this? What are you doing? Are your Gryffindor cronies going to burst in on us? Are you gathering information to use against me? You won’t find anything, you know.”

Astonished, Harry raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I swear. I just… thought we could talk. I didn’t mean to offend you. We don’t have to talk about it. Hermione said it was a bad idea.”

“You told _Granger_?” Malfoy growled, looking deadly.

“Not that it was you!” Harry clarified hastily. “Just that I’d run into… someone.”

That mollified him a bit. “Good. I don’t think this would be the greatest publicity for me. At least not unless it’s…” Malfoy’s voice broke off, and he glanced away.

“Right. We don’t have to talk about it,” Harry said again. “So, um, how’s your mum taking it?”

Malfoy took a deep breath. “Very little fazes her,” he said simply, then fell quiet again as the server brought over their food.

With great relief, Harry tucked into it, if for no other reason than to have something to shovel into his mouth that wasn’t his own foot.

***

Harry wasn’t exactly sure how, but their lunch had turned into a standing date every weekday for two weeks.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint his feelings on the matter, when he thought about it. Malfoy was easy to tune out when he complained about his community service (they had him filing or something right now), fascinating when he drawled Quidditch facts from 1779, and annoying when he got comfortable enough to snag chips from Harry’s plate (until he mentioned something about not growing a boy—Harry wasn’t exactly sure, being a bit distracted by the way Malfoy’s tongue flicked out to catch salt from his lips—and then he couldn’t stop shoving his plate at the other man, even though he wondered why girl babies would be hungrier and suspected it was too early for Malfoy to know the gender of his baby yet). He was also funny, which was a bit disconcerting because most of his humor consisted of picking on Harry, something that used to drive him spare and now made him laugh, and was infuriatingly attractive in a way that Harry was beginning to suspect had nothing to do with the pregnancy at all.

At the end of the second week, they were having lunch at the first fancy French place they’d been to (Harry was picking up the cheque, of course, and Malfoy insisted he’d have to learn how to eat a proper meal sometime, which he supposed was true enough) when Malfoy’s hand casually slid over his and lingered there. Harry looked down at it, fairly certain that it meant they were dating.

He’d been wondering about that for a few days.

It was only that, four days prior, someone had bumped into Malfoy when they were walking on the street, causing him to stumble into Harry’s arms. Harry, concerned more about the baby than Malfoy, who had sneered and started to pull his wand until Harry had shaken his head, had rested his hand on the flat of Malfoy’s stomach, which was warm through the thick material of his button-down. Malfoy had made a hiccup-y little sound, and when Harry had looked up, they were far closer than he’d originally thought.

And then Malfoy had looked at his mouth.

It was such a quick flick of his silver eyes that, later, Harry wondered if he’d imagined it. (The wank Harry had later that night in the shower could be chalked up to neither quick nor imagined, unfortunately.) They’d both pulled away from each other and continued walking, and Malfoy had spent the rest of the way to the restaurant complaining about the Muggle.

After that, it was easier to read the signs.

When they would walk together, Malfoy would shift close enough that their shoulders brushed, even when there was plenty of room on the sidewalk. When Harry’s foot knocked into his under the table, Malfoy sort of trapped it between his ankles for a moment, grinning, before he allowed Harry to retreat. His smiles became softer even as his eyes became sharper and more watchful.

Harry couldn’t quite decide how he felt about the whole situation. It wasn’t the bloke thing; Harry had already come to terms with that aspect of his sexuality when he and Ginny had broken up two years ago. It wasn’t even the Malfoy thing, not really, although Ron was going to have fits. But Malfoy was screamingly hot, all of that pale hair that dipped into his eyes just before he shook it away; those eyes like different kinds of metals and elements, depending on his mood; his arse was a goddamned dream.

No, the problem Harry was having was exactly the primary reason he’d been drawn to helping Malfoy: the baby.

Harry liked kids, he really did. He wanted at least two, someday. He was totally sympathetic with Malfoy; he even admired him a bit, doing the whole thing on his own. And he was a damn good godfather, if he said so, himself.

But he wasn’t sure he was ready to be a dad yet. Maybe not for years. So to date an expecting wizard might not be the wisest course of action.

He raised his eyes from Malfoy’s hand covering his and found Malfoy just watching him in that smoky, inscrutable way he had, a flag of red high on his cheekbones.

Well. Harry was a good godfather, and a great friend and was apparently fantastic at defeating Dark wizards, but even he was the first to admit that the wisest course of action wasn’t his forte.

He flipped his hand around and linked their fingers casually. “You’re looking fit, today.”

Malfoy smirked, but his fingers tightened fractionally around Harry’s. “And you. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned that your uniform, at least, doesn’t make you look like a half-starved orphan.”

“Hey, I _was_ a half-starved orphan,” Harry defended with a grin.

“Not an excuse for looking it," Malfoy sniffed.

“Anyway, you’re looking healthy is what I mean,” Harry fumbled out. “With all the eating out and-and not as much exercise as Quidditch, you’re okay?”

Malfoy looked confused. “Are you trying to tell me… you think I’m getting fat?”

Aghast, Harry shook his head. Even if it were true (which it wasn’t) and even if that were problem (which it wouldn’t be, he didn’t think; Malfoy would be too attractive for his own good at any size) even Harry knew enough not to mention a pregnant person’s weight.

He released a shaky breath. “I was just. It was a compliment.”

“It was a horrible one,” Malfoy complained, but he didn’t draw the warmth of his hand away. “Calling me healthy, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Hey, I also called you fit,” Harry pointed out, flushing. “And you call me awful things all the time.”

“But my insults are true,” Malfoy returned mildly. “So, end of the week.”

“Yeah.”

“Have plans this weekend?”

“I, um, have dinner with Ron and Hermione tonight,” Harry told him, ignoring the way Malfoy rolled his eyes. “But I’m free tomorrow.”

“And are you going to, ah, talk to them about… this?”

Harry’s eyes widened; he bit his lip. “About you? Can I? Is it… safe, or whatever now?”

Malfoy made a humming little noise, looking down at their entwined fingers. “I should… say so. I would hope to stay out of the papers for a while, though.”

Harry smirked. “Please.”

“Fine, then.” Malfoy took a breath. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, would you like to do something?”

“Yeah, sure. What?”

Malfoy gave a wicked little smile that sent Harry’s pulse into overdrive.

***

“So, um, I’m sort of seeing someone,” Harry announced over dinner.  Ron made a noncommittal noise through his mouthful of food, and Hermione glanced up at him over the wine she was pouring. “Okay, well, maybe definitely seeing someone. Not even maybe. Am.”

“We assumed you were, Harry,” she said calmly. “Disappearing every day from lunch and not inviting Ron. Do we know him?”

“Um.”

Her eyebrows rose and she looked at him perceptively for a moment. “This is the pregnant wizard you ran in to.”

Harry nodded guiltily.

“And you feel up to that? Dating someone pregnant?” Hermione asked, going straight to the point.

Harry shrugged uneasily. “I’m not sure. I-I like him, though. I’m curious about where it could go.”

She made a thoughtful little sound as she stared at him, brown eyes intent. “Then you should have a talk about it.”

“What, I’m supposed to say I’m not ready to be a dad, yet?”

“Well, yes.” She twirled her wineglass. “You know, it’s not as if he’s asking you to be… right?”  When Harry gave a little nod, she continued. “It’s perhaps a bit more pressure to get attached to someone with a child, but you don’t have to be the baby’s parent, you know.”

“But I’m good with kids,” Harry said, objecting to her argument without knowing why.

“Tell him that, too, then,” she advised serenely.

Ron finally stopped eating, pinning Harry with a curious look. “So now that you’re dating him, are we allowed to know who he is?”

“Yeah, about that…” Harry felt the teensiest bit bad that he was looking forward to Ron’s reaction. His friends stared at him; Hermione took a deliberate sip of wine, waiting. “It’s Malfoy.”

He didn’t think to dodge—it was _Hermione_ for Merlin’s sake—and was promptly covered in a spray of liquid.

Harry grabbed a napkin and started blotting his face dry. “I really need to start timing that better,” he mumbled over the sound of Hermione’s coughs.

***

“This is where you wanted to go?” Harry looked around the pub; it was dim and dingy, going to seed; there was a strange odour in the air.

“It’s a Saturday night; I thought it best to go somewhere out of the way so this doesn’t end up in the paper,” Malfoy explained, then grabbed his arm and started dragging him toward the bar. “Come on.”

They sat down and Harry watched with astonishment as Malfoy ordered them whiskeys. “Are you… Are you allowed to drink that?”

Malfoy tipped him a sideways look, taking a slow, deep sip. “I’m fairly certain we’re of legal age in any country, Potter.”

“I just mean, won’t it hurt you?” Harry worried aloud as Malfoy took a longer drink.

“Oh.” Malfoy laughed. “There are potions for that.”

It sounded a bit dodgy, but Harry still found himself relieved enough to join Malfoy in drinking. They made their way through two rounds, not talking much over the sound of the telly in the corner replaying a sporting event and the conversations around them and then Malfoy slammed his glass onto the bar and swiveled in his seat, looking at Harry directly.

“I just wanted to say,” Harry mumbled, compulsion to fill the silence guiding him, “that I’m a really good godfather. You know, to Teddy? He’s your cousin.”

Malfoy raised a single eyebrow, languidly. “Is that so? I haven’t met him yet.”

“He’s a really easy kid to like. I could bring you, if you wanted to see him,” Harry offered. “Get some… practice around kids. I’m not, you know, ready to have them yet, but it’s good to be around them, right? Especially since…” he gulped. “I mean, I like being around them. Anyway, you could come with me.”

Malfoy gave a soft laugh. “You’re not much like I thought you were, Potter,” he said, sounding like the admission was being dragged off his tongue by angry gnomes.

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” Harry shot back. “You’re barely like I thought you were, and I kind of like it.”

Malfoy blinked at him as if his eyes were suddenly blurry. “Oh. Well. Perhaps you can prove me wrong in other respects, as well,” he murmured, and put a hand on Harry’s thigh.

Harry’s muscles clenched from surprise, so quickly he thought for a moment he was going to get a cramp from it. But then Malfoy’s long fingers sort of massaged the inseam of his jeans, and an entirely different brand of awareness washed through him.

“We didn’t come here to drink, right?” he whispered.

“We did,” Malfoy said, eyes glinting. “But just enough so I’d be able to do this without laughing at myself. Some of us aren’t cursed with Gryffindor recklessness, you know.” A

nd then he curled a hand around the nape of Harry’s neck and pulled him forward into a kiss. Harry’s hands came up to grip tightly at Malfoy’s biceps, drawing him in closer as Malfoy slanted his mouth over Harry’s, sliding off his barstool into a standing position so that Harry had to reach up to stay connected. Malfoy bit at his lower lip—probably drawing blood, Harry thought wildly over the pounding of his heart—and in return, Harry sucked the other man’s tongue into his mouth, hard, earning him a groan.

With effort, Harry pulled away. “My flat is around the corner.”

“I know.” Malfoy gave him a feral smile.

After ducking into an alleyway outside, they Apparated into Harry’s bedroom rather than waste the five minutes walking. Malfoy stumbled a bit and Harry caught him up, resuming their kiss, slipping his tongue against Malfoy’s, who tasted of salt and cheap whiskey.

Malfoy hummed, a pleased little sound, and it created a funny vibration against Harry’s mouth. His cock, already starting to swell, thickened further and pressed against the front of his jeans. He snagged a tight arm around Malfoy’s waist and hooked him forward, pressing their bodies flush together, from shoulder to knee. Malfoy panted, wrenching his head back, looking at him with wide, startled eyes and that same recklessness he liked to accuse Harry of. He bent his head, tucking it into the curve of Harry’s throat, and began skimming his teeth over the tendons there, so hard that it dragged an animal sound from Harry's throat.

He walked Malfoy backwards, stopping only when the mattress hit the backs of his thighs and then gave him a little shove. Malfoy toppled backward obediently, falling onto his arse and hands, making a face of displeasure that didn’t fool Harry one whit. He reached out and slid his long fingers under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, then hooked them into the waistband of his jeans, tugging him closer until Harry toppled too, quite satisfyingly, onto him.

And oh, _god_. Harry groaned as Malfoy caught his mouth in another kiss, skimming his hands over Harry’s shoulders and back and arse like he was exploring, gripping handfuls of muscle and flesh here and there, tightly enough to leave bruises in the morning. He could feel Malfoy’s erection, the long length of it, pressing against his thigh, and Harry kicked off his shoes while angling upward, curving his hips into Malfoy’s until their cocks came into contact.

Malfoy’s head fell back on a gasp against the duvet as Harry began frotting against him in slow, delicious strokes, shoving Malfoy’s shirt up in the spare space between them until he could take a proper look at Malfoy’s chest, his tight pink nipples, his muscles, so slim and sleekly defined. Malfoy’s hands landed on his arse again and he cupped Harry’s backside in a harsh grip, lifting up against him.

“Potter, oh, god, I need—”

“Yeah, you do,” Harry mumbled hoarsely into his ear before licking it and biting down on the lobe. His hands found Malfoy’s throat, covering the fine skin there, fingers fanned out, thumb resting against his pulse. It thrummed frantically, gratifyingly, and Harry looked down at the man beneath him, who was staring at him with astonishment and lust.

And he was pregnant.

The thought popped into Harry’s mind apropos of nothing; it gave new, sharp angles to what they were doing, clearing some of the fog from his mind.

“I don’t… I don’t want to hurt it.”

Malfoy drew back deeper into the mattress, startled and dazed. “You don’t want to—then don’t! Why are you stopping?”

“Because… I mean, will it get hurt?”

Malfoy made a strange face, like he was questioning Harry’s sanity. “Maybe a little, but if you do it right, it’ll make it feel good. You have done this before, right?”

“Yes!” But, with disappointment, he realised he couldn’t have Malfoy the way he wanted to, not for months and certainly not tonight. His pulse was still racing under Harry’s thumb, and hadn’t Hermione said something about strenuous activities? Harry was also, if he admitted it, a bit revolted at the idea of fucking Malfoy and the baby feeling it in any way, even positively. “I’m just, you know, worried.”

“Well, don’t be,” Malfoy snapped out in an irritated fashion, breath coming slower. “I came here for something, Potter, and I expect to get it.”

Harry sighed. He really did like that tone in Malfoy’s voice; it was a shame he couldn’t show him how much.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised.

Malfoy stared at him. “You’re still not moving,” he reminded Harry after a moment.

Harry blinked. He kissed Malfoy gently, pulling away slightly when Malfoy tried to deepen the kiss, and the slid down the length of his body and back onto the floor, on his knees. He tugged on Malfoy’s legs, dragging him downward and slowly, carefully undid his flies.

“Potter?” Malfoy muttered, sounding uncertain.

“It’s okay.” Harry slipped Malfoy’s shoes off, then eased his trousers and pants down, watching with barely restrained longing as Malfoy’s cock popped free of its constraints. It was a rather gorgeous thing; long and decently thick and flushed a deep pink. If he could, oh, Merlin, the things he would do to Malfoy right now…

Harry ghosted his breath over the tip, kissing the leaking slit and licking at it, curling his tongue under the crown in gentle strokes, and then took Malfoy deeper. Malfoy made a soft little sound. His hands found Harry’s head, guiding it, pumping up hard into his mouth. Harry put his hands on his hips to stay them and continued, drawing the experience out, letting Malfoy sigh above him as Malfoy’s hands became lax and then, near the end, clutched tightly at Harry’s hair for one brief moment as Malfoy came, almost anti-climactically in Harry’s mouth, salty and bitter on his taste buds.

He pulled away and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of Malfoy’s thigh, then climbed back up onto the bed.  Malfoy was staring up at the ceiling, barely winded. He turned and looked at Harry, face shuttered.

“Right. Best see to you, then.”  His hands strayed to Harry’s belt, but Harry trapped his wrists with one hand.

“You don’t have to,” he said, practically weeping inside for what it cost him.

Malfoy’s lip curled. “Always the martyr, right, Potter? Fine. I’ll be going, then.” He sat up and started gathering up his pants. “

Wait! Don’t you want to… maybe stay the night?”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” Malfoy sneered. “If that’s what you have to offer, I don’t need to experience it again. This was very fun, ta for that, but I think it might be best to resume our awkward run-ins. We just don’t have the proper chemistry, I think.”

Offended, Harry blurted, “Hey, you came!”

“From a blowjob, yes. Very well done. Just what I was expecting,” he said, and it wasn’t a compliment. He stopped for a moment, pants on, trousers and shoes in his hands, looking bewildered and regretful. His tone softened. “Very sweet and giving and… Really, Potter, there’s some definite potential there. Or, there was in the beginning. But I can’t deal with your self-righteous act. It’s a bit amusing in public, but in the bedroom…” He shook his head, blond hair flying about his face. “‘You don’t have to,’” he mimicked, sounding angry. “Anything I’d have done would have been better than that little show.”

A bitter, hot pit of rage bubbled in Harry’s stomach. “Well, fine. Maybe I don’t want to fuck someone who can show so little regard for the life they carry.”

“Little regard?” Malfoy scowled, pulling his trousers up over his hips, leaving them undone. “What are you on about? I do everything they ask me with no complaints!”

“You drink! You Apparate! You want to engage in _strenuous activities_ ,” Harry yelled.

“So what!” Malfoy yelled back, glowering. “You judgmental arse, you do all of those things too!”

“But _I’m_ not pregnant!” Harry roared.

“Neither am I!” Malfoy responded, louder, and then snapped his mouth shut, stunned. “Wait, what?”

Harry felt the air leave the room. He clutched at the duvet with both fists, furious. “You mean you’ve been faking it this whole time?”

“Faking what? Being pregnant? Why on earth would you—Because they transferred me from the Ministry to work in the filing room of obstetrics to finish off my community service? Are you really so daft that you think only pregnant people can work there?” Malfoy demanded, voice dripping with disdain.

“You’re working there?” Weakly, Harry stared at him. “We’ve talked about the baby.”

“Oh, _have we_?” Malfoy asked acidly.

“A-a lot.” Nausea roiled around in Harry’s stomach as he tried to remember the conversations they’d had in which Malfoy had talked about the baby. “You said your mother wasn’t fazed by it.”

Malfoy glared at him half-heartedly, looking more disappointed than anything else. “By me being gay,” he said. “When you asked if I was single.”

“You told me you had seven months of your pregnancy left,” Harry croaked out.

“Of my probation, you tosser.” Malfoy grimaced. “I’m fairly certain I said nothing about a baby. Ever.”

Harry lifted his head. “You said you had to steal my chips because you were having a girl!” he said triumphantly. Malfoy paused, and then his eyes grew round.

“Do you _never actually listen to me, Potter_? We’ve been—dating for two weeks! I’ve spoken to you about my community service more than once. If I remember correctly, I said you don’t need all of your chips because you weren’t a growing boy anymore! I was making fun of you!” He closed his eyes as if Harry was just too stupid to look at.

Harry felt like taking it a step further and sending a _Reducto_ to smash all of the mirrors in his house.

“But-but you said I couldn’t tell Hermione until the baby was safe. And-when I said I was good with kids, you wanted to-to sleep with me,” he said in a stifled tone.

Malfoy sighed, face reflecting the warm light of Harry’s lamps, too beautiful to be standing there in the middle of Harry’s bedroom almost completely clothed and not be getting kissed. Harry felt an ache of regret wash through him. “I didn’t want you to tell Granger about us until we were—maybe going somewhere. And then you offered to bring me to meet your—well, _my_ family, but yours, too. I was planning on sleeping with you, anyway, though,” he explained, barely above a whisper, gaze falling to the floor.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingertips to them under his glasses until he saw stars. “I’m sorry.”

Malfoy gave a humourless chuckle. “Me too. I should have known you thought I was a _cause_.”

He turned to leave and Harry opened his eyes, watching him go. His heart tightened at the realisation that Malfoy thought he’d wanted him because Harry liked to save things. Malfoy was leaving, and didn’t know how Harry felt, and thought Harry was boring in bed and—

Fuck.

Harry rushed toward the man so fast the room blurred around him, smacking his hand on the door to slam it just as Malfoy began to pull it open. The sound echoed in the room. He breathed heavily against the Malfoy’s ear, savagely satisfied when the other man shivered, trapped between Harry and the door.

“ _I want you_ ,” Harry muttered in his ear, stepping in further and pressing his chest to Malfoy’s back.

“I’ve been there, Potter, no thank you,” Malfoy said, but the breathlessness in his voice betrayed him, and Harry’s mouth curved up.

“You owe me. One for one. You don’t get to leave without making me come, too.”

Malfoy’s forehead thunked against the wood of the door, exposing the pale skin of his neck. “I offered.”

“I’m accepting,” Harry murmured, low in his ear, and was rewarded with another full body tremble. He pressed harder against Malfoy, rubbing his cock against the firm curve of his backside. Malfoy’s hand dropped from the doorknob and reached back, clasping the front of Harry’s thigh.

Harry slid his hands down the wood grain of the door, smooth against his palms, and put one to Draco’s hip, pulling him backward, and the other to his groin. He was soft, but Harry palmed him, slowly at first and then more roughly, and soon enough Draco’s cock started to fill out, hardening against Harry’s hand. Harry ran his fingers up the length of it, learning its shape, as though it hadn’t been in his mouth only minutes ago.

Draco made a strangled sound, panting, tipping his head back and exposing his throat, his soft hair brushing Harry’s cheek. Harry leaned down, licking a stripe up the curve of his neck and then biting down, sucking hard, pulling the blood to the surface of that fine, white skin. He rolled his hips again with more intent, rubbing himself against Malfoy’s arse, and Malfoy nodded, quick and decisive.

“Okay,” he panted, dropping his shoes with his free hand as Harry mouthed at his throat and nipped his ear. “Okay. You can have another chance.”

Harry laughed, low and dark. “Oh, _can I_?”

He released Malfoy’s prick, straining against his undone trousers, and grabbed him by the waist, spinning them toward the bed, walking Malfoy forward this time in an absurd parody of a dance. Malfoy wriggled his bottom for more attention and Harry thrust against him, lightly.

They reached the bed and Harry pushed Malfoy down with no warning, watching him bounce against the mattress as he tried to right himself, hands akimbo. He grabbed at Draco’s waistband and yanked his trousers and pants back off, probably burning the skin on Malfoy’s hips, but Malfoy just moaned into the mattress and offered up his arse, as curving and perfect as Harry had suspected, with twin dimples at the base of his spine and a tantalizing shadow to his crevice.  Harry finished stripping him, removing his socks as well, and then stepped back.

“Take off your shirt. Don’t turn around.”

“I want to touch you,” Malfoy muttered, sounding sullen even as he obeyed, getting up on his knees and stripping off his shirt clumsily, then tossing it to the floor.

Harry efficiently undressed behind him, watching, and after a moment of what seemed to be indecision, Malfoy leaned back down, propping himself on his hands and knees, spreading his legs invitingly. He was slender; the knobs of his spine were clearly visible, but muscled as well, skin golden in the hue of the room. His balls hung, heavy, between his thighs, and Harry could see the tip of his prick below that, bouncing slightly as Malfoy rocked into position.

When Harry was naked, he gave his cock an absent stroke, closing his eyes briefly as pleasure snaked down his shaft and decided to leave off for now. Malfoy wasn’t pregnant, and if his position was anything to indicate, was fine with Harry topping, which was just what he intended to do.

But first.

He grabbed his wand from where it had fallen onto the floor and aimed. Malfoy gave a little yelp as the cleaning charm hit him.

“I prefer manual prep,” he mumbled.  Harry put his hand on his arse, stroking it briefly before gripping both cheeks with his hands and spreading them, opening him up. Malfoy gasped. “But, okay, that’s fine.”

“I didn’t prep you for fucking yet,” Harry muttered, not recognising his own voice.  Malfoy spared a look over his shoulder, eyes vaguely wild.

“Then what…”  Harry climbed onto the bed and crouched down behind him, nuzzling his nose into the cleft of Malfoy’s arse. Malfoy made that happy little choking noise again. “Oh. That.”

Harry started low, tongue laving Malfoy’s perineum in slow strokes, dipping down to lick at his balls, which were covered in a fine dusting of hair just slightly more golden than that on Malfoy’s head. Malfoy’s legs trembled and Harry let loose one side of his arse to reach between them and grasp at his hanging cock, a hot, hard weight in his hand. It was an awkward angle, but he quickly figured out that if he stroked up rather than down, working Malfoy’s foreskin back, that Malfoy would writhe a bit into the sensation.

“God, Potter—are you going to—”

Harry chuckled, making shapes with his tongue on the stretch of skin just beneath Malfoy’s tight little hole. “What? What do you want me to do?”

“I—ughh—I want you to—just fucking do it, Potter!”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Harry said again, licking up then down, above and below.

“I want-oh, god-are you really?-I _can’t_ say it, you don’t say things like _that_ , you just fucking _do_ them,” Malfoy babbled.

“Sounds awfully boring of you,” Harry murmured. “You’ll say it if you want it.”

There was a long pause as Malfoy gasped. Harry let go of his cock and spread his cheeks wide again, thumbs in close proximity to where Malfoy was squirming to have Harry’s tongue. “ _Iwantyoutolickmyarse_ ,” he said on a rush.

“Okay,” Harry said simply. “Now say please.”

“ _Please_ ,” he gasped out, no dissembling at all.

Harry grinned, then pressed forward. He traced the rim of Malfoy’s furled entrance with his tongue and Malfoy whined above him. Harry licked around it, loosening him up, pressing his tongue in hard strokes, then light, then quick, then slow. Malfoy clenched against the flat of Harry’s tongue; he bucked backward and Harry buried his face deep, clamping his lips around his hole and sucking lightly, then with more pressure. He could taste the tingle of the cleaning charm, but something more, like Malfoy’s skin, rich and smoky and salty and Harry moaned into it, his tongue breaching Malfoy’s loosened muscles. He firmed up his tongue and pressed into him, a little and then more, lips still wrapped around that wrinkled bit of flesh and apparently Malfoy had given up on the idea that you _don’t talk about things like that_ because he was writhing against Harry’s mouth and muttering, “Oh, Merlin, _fuck, yes,_ like that, Potter, fuck me with your tongue, harder _oh my god you fucking arsehole, do it, do it_.”

Harry reached in with his thumbs, breaking the seal of his mouth just barely as he stabbed into Malfoy with his tongue, searching deeper, licking inside of him, adding the tip of one thumb and then the other to open him up because he was there for Harry, so that Harry could _take_ him, the way he’d wanted to back in _sixth year_ -

Harry broke off, panting, still tasting Malfoy on his lips when he licked them as he processed that last thought. Then he shook it off because Malfoy was whimpering and his thumbs were in Malfoy’s slick arse and he could fucking deal with it later, if he wanted.

He slid his thumbs out and replaced them with two fingers, palm down, smooth and quick and down to the base knuckles, scissoring them, stroking inside with quick explorative pumps, searching. Malfoy gasped and slid forward onto his elbows, pressing his face to the mattress, as Harry rubbed against his prostate and so he did it again, feeling a little vindictive.

“You’re so fucking tight, Malfoy.”

Malfoy moaned.

“Really,” Harry added conversationally, voice rough. “I’m fucking you with two fingers,” he explained, screwing them back in, “And I’ve already loosened you up. And you’re still so fucking tight. I’m wondering what you’d feel like around my cock. Are you?”

Malfoy made a garbled, muffled sound.

“Do you need more?” Harry asked, watching his fingers disappear into Malfoy, his knuckles bumping against the curve of his arse. “Another finger? Two more? …Or—”

“No,” Malfoy gasped, lifting his head a little. “Just your cock. Now, if you please,” sounding polite as anything but for the broken quality of his voice.

“Roll over,” Harry said gutturally. He removed his fingers carefully and grabbed a pillow, tossing it into the middle of the bed.

Malfoy didn’t move for a moment and then slowly, as if his bones hurt, did as Harry asked. He laid down on top of the pillow, legs splayed and arse high for Harry’s inspection; his hole was shiny with spit, a deeper colour from use. Pink blotches covered his face and the top of his neck; a purple bruise bloomed on the side of his throat where Harry had sucked at it. His nipples were tight little buds.

Harry slicked up his cock while Malfoy watched, grey eyes flaring with heat, sweat causing the hair at his temples to cling to his skin. Then Harry kneeled over him, grabbed one of Malfoy’s ankles and propped it on his shoulder, ignoring the other man’s squawk of indignation as fake, because Malfoy’s other long leg came up to grip Harry around the waist. Harry reached down, thumbing his cock lower until he found Malfoy’s entrance. Their eyes locked, and Harry _pressed_.

He heard himself make a choking sound as he breached Malfoy with the head of his cock—it hadn’t been just talk to make the other man shiver; Malfoy was so tight. His arse gripped Harry like a vice, slick and dark and fitted like he was _made_ for Harry to fuck him and Harry pushed deeper in rough little rutting movements, staring down at the other man. A row of white teeth flashed as Malfoy bit down on his lower lip, looking ridiculously flushed and sexy as he concentrated while Harry worked his way inside. Harry gave a series of small thrusts, pulling back each time before pushing forward, harder, and finally gave a gasp as he bottomed out in the other man, the thatch of curls at his groin rubbing against Malfoy, his balls resting against the roundness of Malfoy’s arse.

“You’re not going to stop again, are you?” Malfoy breathed, planting his hands on either side of him to lift himself up a bit. The movement caused him to constrict against Harry somehow and Harry gave a helpless thrust, grinding against the other man.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry gritted out.

Malfoy gave a smile that was part sneering, part sweet; it shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was. “Yes,” he sighed, then laid back again, offering himself up.

Harry leaned down and kissed him, messy and hard, then pulled his hips back, sliding out of the tight sheath of Malfoy's passage before pitching them forward again. Malfoy groaned, hands tightening on Harry’s bedding, butting his arse up, the leg around his waist pulling him closer. Harry did it again, and again, drag and push, snapping his hips, clenching his arse muscles as he set up a rhythm inside Malfoy, who turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth open as he made tiny gasping sounds.

Harry gave a feral growl as he slid almost all of the way out and then sharply back in, tilting up Malfoy’s hips further with one hand until he bucked wildly on one of Harry’s thrusts. Harry gritted his teeth, doing it again as Malfoy’s hole tightened. The sound of slapping flesh filled the room as he pounded into Malfoy, pivoting his hips in little swirls to better rub against his prostate, and Malfoy’s hands came up, clutching at his biceps with desperate fingers, rocking upward in time with Harry’s hips pistoning in and in and _in_.

“Harry,” he gasped, and the use of his name on Malfoy’s tongue caused Harry to falter a little before he resumed fucking the other man into the mattress, “I’m going to come.”

“Come then,” Harry ordered him lowly. He watched as Malfoy reached between them, wrapping long fingers around his leaking cock and stroking himself. He jerked at himself in quick, long movements, fist so tight around his shaft that the head turned nearly purple under his ministrations but for all that, his motions seemed almost lazy, as though he wasn’t in any rush at all.  Still, it happened sooner than Harry expected; Malfoy’s face twisted, his hand pulling his prick in that fast grip, and then he arched up hard against Harry, coming in long white stripes against Harry’s stomach and his own, warm and long and sticky.

As he groaned and thrashed beneath Harry, his arse constricted, tightening repetitively, and Harry’s hips stuttered; he fucked deeper with no finesse, almost clumsily, mind blank as he chased his orgasm. His balls tightened, drawing up close to his body, the squelching sounds of pounding into Malfoy’s arse ringing in his ears like music, too loud and devastating, and he thrust forward again, once, twice, too hard, hearing Malfoy whimper, clenching gripping fingers on Malfoy's hips as he came.

He shuddered painfully as sparks of pleasure shot down his spine and his cock throbbed with release as he emptied himself inside the other man, who blinked at him, his mouth a tiny ‘o’ of surprise even as he pressed his heel into the meat of Harry’s lower back, urging him closer as if that were even possible.

Harry sagged against him heavily after he was finished, the sweat cooling his hot skin, Malfoy’s bony body a welcome shape beneath his. Malfoy allowed it for a minute or two, heart racing against Harry’s chest (or maybe that was his own) before making a little noise of complaint.

Harry pulled out of him carefully and rolled off, to the side. They were quiet for a bit, the only sounds their heavy breathing.

“Was _that_ what you thought it’d be?” Harry finally asked, still breathless.

“ _No_ ,” Malfoy said with emphasis, and this time it did sound like a compliment.

With effort, Harry crooked his elbow and propped his head on his hand, looking down at the other man. “Are you still leaving?”

“Are you going to bore me again with one of those displays of _tenderness_ ,” Malfoy drawled out, making it sound like a bad thing, “which I could just as well sleep through?”

Harry reached down, skimming his fingers over the come still wet on Malfoy’s belly, then rubbing his palm over his soft cock. All right, he conceded, maybe the blowjob had been a bit boring. Maybe more than a bit. It actually made him cringe, thinking about it.

“Probably not.” He paused. “I’m sorry. It’s not because you’re pregnant.”

“I’m _not pregnant_ ,” Malfoy muttered irritably. He hesitated. “You used a protective charm, right?”

Harry blinked, hand falling away. “Um.”

Malfoy looked at him with wide, horrified eyes as Harry’s life flashed before him, and then his face broke. He started laughing. “Merlin,” he wheezed. “That’s going to hold me over for a long time. Breathe, Potter. I said the incantation.”

Harry glowered at him, which only made him laugh harder. His face shone bright, eyes shut and cheeks crinkling with the width of his smile, and something in Harry softened at seeing it, this side of Malfoy he’d barely known existed at all, happy and uncomplicated with laughter.

“Right,” Harry said after a pause. “I mean, it’s not because I thought you were pregnant. At first, that’s why I asked you out. But then—” He fumbled a bit, not knowing how to finish. “I’m seeing Teddy tomorrow. Do you think… Would you still come?”

Malfoy cracked one eye open. “I could possibly be persuaded. Family duty and all that.”

“Of course,” Harry said, amused.

“So,” Malfoy continued after a second, “Granger and Weasley now think I’m pregnant?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’ll tell them.”

“Maybe not,” he responded, sounding too devious for Harry’s peace of mind.

“Um.”

“Do they at least know we’re dating?”

“Yeah. Hermione spat wine at me,” Harry told him ruefully. Malfoy suddenly snickered and Harry scowled at him. “It’s not _that_ funny.”

“No, it’s just—” His snicker became another laugh, deep and coming from his chest. After a moment, he got himself under a modicum of control and did a surprisingly good imitation of Harry as he quoted, “‘I don’t want to _hurt_ it.’”

Harry flushed. “Being sensitive to your situation isn’t nearly as bad as hearing from you that I could make it feel _good_ ,” he mumbled, grudgingly pleased when it made Malfoy crack up again. When he wound down, Harry dropped a light, smiling kiss onto his relaxed mouth, and Malfoy gave him a little questioning look. “So, _do_ you want kids someday?”

Malfoy groaned. “I’m the Malfoy heir; I _need_ them.” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t be upset about it, either, under the right circumstances.”

“Okay,” Harry sighed, stretching out his arm and resting his head against it, relaxing.

“In the future.”

“Of course.”

“And, Potter,” Malfoy said, a warning note in his voice. Harry’s head came up warily. “Don’t for one minute think, if we get serious enough for that, that I’m going to get up the duff. You’ll take the potions.”

Harry huffed a quiet laughed and kissed him again.

“Malfoy,” he said, “That’s exactly what I was expecting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are lovely.


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